Charlatan Society
by randomthoughts.917
Summary: Three years after the Henley heist, Kat finds herself working for Arturo Taccone. With a new crew, she must successfully plan impossible jobs in order to keep her loved ones safe. The only problem? Her old friends and her father are her competition.


A/N: A charlatan is a liar or a con artist, though some definitions are different. Enjoy!

-^-o-^-o-^-o-^-

1.

George had served as Arturo Taccone's personal bodyguard for two years. Though their relationship was less than cordial, they had a certain understanding of each other that allowed them to work together well. George also knew the inner workings of Taccone's mind almost as well as he knew himself. And so when Taccone had walked into that apartment and Interpol suddenly showed up, George immediately drove away. He dumped the car, hot-wired a new one, and then began to make a few calls.

Taccone was sent to a high-security prison a few days later. It took six months of preparations, threats, and calling on a few favors. But George was one of the best bodyguards in the world, and so when Taccone was finally released, George stood by waiting with a new suit and his favorite cane. And Taccone walked back into the world as a free man.

Interpol was outraged, rookie attorneys were demanding answers, and the media were attempting to cover all sides of the story. But they couldn't dig deeper than the obvious facts, the attorneys were warned by their superiors to keep out of the business, and Interpol could only stand by and watch as one of the most dangerous men in the world climbed into his antique car, looking as calm and collected as ever.

Only George knew what Taccone was thinking the moment that the car door slammed shut and the driver sped away. But he remained silent and waited for him to speak first.

Taccone tapped his fingers on the head of his cane, lost in thought for a few minutes. "Astapkovich?" he asked finally.

"Yes, sir," George answered. "Demanded a share of the next imports in return, but the notion quickly left his mind."

"Excellent." Taccone nodded and slowly readjusted his suit jacket. "George, we have a stop to make."

"In England, sir?"

"In England."

-^-o-^-o-^-o-^-

Katarina Bishop was walking down Fifth Avenue, licking drops of strawberry ice cream that dripped down the sides of her waffle cone. Though it seemed like all of her attention was focused on the pale pink ice cream, she had no problem avoiding the other pedestrians on the sidewalk. Her steps were steady and sure, and she navigated herself to an empty bench in Madison Square Park without any mishaps. She was only halfway through the cone when a familiar blond-haired boy sat down next to her, but she ignored him and continued finishing off the treat.

"I thought Neapolitan was your favorite."

"They were out," Kat sighed, licking her fingers. "And strawberry is in Neapolitan, so I figured that I might as well go for a third of the flavor."

Hale just shook his head.

Kat leaned back on the bench and glanced at him. "So what's up, Wilson Wentworth?"

He shook his head again, this time a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Those names are pathetic."

Kat shrugged. "I'm running out of ideas. Maybe I should just Google a list of names starting with 'w' and then read them all off to you-"

"Be careful, Kat," Hale suddenly interrupted, his voice low.

Kat stared at him, startled by the sudden change in his demeanor. He wouldn't look at her, but instead stared straight ahead with a hard look in his eyes. Then she sighed and asked, "Did something happen?"

"Taccone was released this morning."

They sat in silence while Kat processed the information. His arrest had been all over the news: Arturo Taccone, the man with his hands in nearly every illegal weapons dealings in the Middle East, the man who had enough power to make people disappear and yet the police couldn't touch him. Until he was caught in an abandoned apartment with five stolen and invaluable pieces of art. And Kat had been the one to place him there.

She could still remember the coldness in his voice, the murderous glint in his eyes. Kat felt herself go numb. "Who sent you to tail me?" she asked quietly. "Dad? Or Uncle Eddie?"

"Both," Hale replied, burying his head in his hands. "Kat, Taccone is-"

"Coming after me," she finished, nodding slowly. "I figured."

"Why are you acting like you've already given up?" Hale demanded, looking up at her angrily.

Kat blinked several times before answering softly, "I'm sorry." For some reason, it didn't seem like the right thing to say.

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two friends as they faced ahead. A little boy suddenly ran in front of them, laughing happily as his Labrador puppy jumped up to lick his face. It was such an innocent scene that Kat found herself smiling slightly. But then she stood abruptly and began to walk away. Hale noticed her exit a half second later and jogged a few steps to catch up with her. "Where are you going?"

Kat stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and replied nonchalantly, "To find some Neapolitan."

-^-o-^-o-^-o-^-

It was nearly one in the morning when Kat emptied out her suitcase and pulled out an airplane ticket from underneath the cloth that lined the insides. She stared at it for a few seconds, then folded it in half and stuffed it in her pocket. She threw on her favorite beige trench coat, a gift from her cousin Gabrielle. She then grabbed her purse, already packed with money and a few other essentials.

Her phone lay on the nightstand and she hesitated in picking it up, but unlocked it and opened the latest text message. The bright screen illuminated the room in a dim glow, but her eyes were fixed on the three words that had haunted her for the past sixteen hours: _Remember the pictures._

She jammed the phone into her purse and took a step towards the door. Taking a deep breath, she silently opened it and slipped into the hallway.

It took thirty seconds to reach Hale's room, and another ten to open the door without it creaking. But in less than a minute she was standing by his bed, staring down at Hale's sleeping form. And instead of thinking about how she was about to walk to her own death, she was thinking about how incredibly hot he looked.

And when Hale woke up the next morning, he noticed that the window next to his bed was wide open.

-^-o-^-o-^-o-^-

After the Henley's most prized painting was stolen, Gregory Wainwright had no choice but to auction off the remaining pieces, close the museum, and return to his Virginia home in disgrace. The city had plans for the building, but for now it stood closed to the public indefinitely. The only thing left to be admired was the exterior architectural design that had been seen on television for weeks after the entire fire and theft fiasco.

Katarina Bishop stood in front of the building, recalling the greatest heist she had ever pulled off. Of course, she had been used by Visily Romani, but in the end everything had gone according to plan and things went back to normal.

Except this.

This had been unexpected. But Kat remembered the envelope of photographs all too well, the one that Arturo Taccone had personally delivered to her as a warning of what exactly he was capable of. And the words _remember the pictures _ran through her mind again. Yes, she remembered.

And that was why she had returned to the Henley, the one place where she knew that Taccone would be expecting her.

Kat didn't see the black Sedan pull up behind her because she was thinking about how mad Hale and her father were going to be when they found out that she had left. And maybe if she had seen it, she would have been more prepared for what was about to happen.


End file.
